Critically Acclaimed

That's the one, who was critical in form
Everything a matter of mention, but not one whisper of it to menace
Souls be the lack of an edge if only the possible
Never the sacred forge to bring it together
Judgment in sight
Whisper from thee
Like needles in a flit
Never did the portait ever need painting
With forged enough fluids spread all around
The body only ever poked by bombardment and feeling
Not unlike a pin cushion raazed with serrated edges
The tips have found all of the key points
Without the edge or ends
Only the pain could grow more and follow
Seek deep and find strong
Never to unveil their weaknesses
The lances, the laces, the stitches
Breaking back in their own pace
That which is upon their own place.

Nothing but the best of the worst
Only the lost shall stand and be
Just what is the only make the soul beg
What to be prodded in their own place
Banded
Bold
Bitter
Beaten
Bashed
Battered
Broken
This is the fate of the Ill born
Only the day shall stand when they are broken
The painfully...Critically Acclaimed.